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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709298">you were meant for me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot'>Skyepilot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Knives Out (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Flirting, Drinking &amp; Talking, F/M, First Dates, Musicals, Playlist, Rain, Touching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:47:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marta returns Benoit's umbrella mid-trial.  Inspired by an OTP prompt.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you were meant for me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just returning the umbrella. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes the closed umbrella from her hand and hooks the handle on his wrist as he stands in the door of his hotel room, his shirt unbuttoned and in a more relaxed state than perhaps she has ever seen him.</p><p> </p><p>“You're welcome, Ms. Cabrera,” he says to her. “You might have held onto it, though. At least until the trial is over? It sounds like a gully washer out there.”</p><p> </p><p>“A gully what?” she asks him, leaning forward slightly, then her ears adjust and she hears the rain coming down outside his hotel window in the room behind him. “Oh, you mean it's raining hard?”</p><p> </p><p>“Raining cats and dogs,” he says with a polite smile.</p><p> </p><p>“It just looked so old fashioned,” she says, pointing at the umbrella's carved wood handle. “I thought maybe it was sentimental to you? Or expensive?”</p><p> </p><p>“That's kind. It was gifted to me by a client,” he confirms. “I would've returned for it eventually. I <em>do</em> know where you live after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“No need for that now, I guess?” she asks him with a sad shrug, trying not to fidget, looking down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me!” he says quickly, disappearing into the room and returning with his hands free. “Would you like to join me for a drink in the bar downstairs?” he offers. “To knock the chill off? My treat.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should be the one treating you,” she tells him. “But no, I don't think I can meet any more new faces today?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” he hums mulling it over. “No doubt. Then how 'bout we raid my mini-bar?” he offers. “At least until the weather settles?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” she tells him after a moment, stepping inside the open door where he's made room for her.</p><p> </p><p>That's when she notices he's not wearing shoes as he closes the door. That his hair is damp and his shirt slightly see-through.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you get drenched because you gave me your umbrella?” she asks, pretending to be mortified.</p><p> </p><p>“I was just toweling off when you knocked if you don't mind giving me a moment?” he answers, gesturing back at the bathroom door. “Just help yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, not at all,” she tells him, letting her eyes fall on his suspenders hanging loose from his pants.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>, you need help,” he says, pausing with a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “Or <em>no</em>, you don't mind-”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't mind,” she tells him, swallowing, then meeting his eyes. “I think I can find the minibar.”</p><p> </p><p>He wanders into the bathroom and cracks the door as she backs away towards the direction of the minibar and accidentally bumps the bed.</p><p> </p><p>His phone is sitting out on it, and she sees his earbuds plugged into it and that there is something paused on the screen and even with only a glance, she catches the letters and then freezes.</p><p> </p><p>Why does her brain work like this? Years of reading labels upside down for her job.</p><p> </p><p>She releases a breath. She really shouldn't. But she can't help herself.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes flicker to the bathroom door and she quickly cranes her neck to look at the phone right side up.</p><p> </p><p>It's her name, and a list of songs underneath it, one of them paused. Not familiar, but-</p><p> </p><p>“I don't think the minibar has much variety,” he says, opening the door as she moves quickly away towards the cabinet where she hopes the minibar is stashed.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, how impolite of me,” he says, reaching out a hand. “Would you like me to take your coat?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, yes,” she says, turning back to him and sliding it off her arms. She raises an eyebrow and stares at his slightly tousled hair, that he's wearing a mostly dry t-shirt now. <em>Shit. Shit. Shit.</em></p><p> </p><p>He takes her coat and moves in closer to her so that her back is almost up against the door.</p><p> </p><p>“The coat goes in the door behind you,” he says to her in a funny almost-whisper. “Unless you'd rather I just lay it out on the bed?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is the mini bar in there also?” she asks, unable to look away from his eyes searching hers, fumbling for the knob of the door behind her.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” she says, moving forward as he takes a step back to give her space to open the door. “Because I could use a drink.”</p><p> </p><p>He hangs her coat up above her while she bends and looks through the ingredients in the small fridge, noticing his bare feet next to her on the carpet, still for a few moments before he kneels to join her.</p><p> </p><p>“How about a hot toddy?” he asks her, looking up at her starting with her shoes, then her legs, her sweater, until he makes it to her eyes. “Perfect for the weather.”</p><p> </p><p>He hands up the small bottles of whiskey and she takes them over to the coffee pot and sets them down to start looking for the rest of the ingredients. “Honey,” she says, holding the sticks up, wiggling them between her fingers. “Some lemon herb tea,” she says, with a smile, shaking the packets.”</p><p> </p><p>Opening the coffee maker he adds the bottled water he took from the fridge and pushes the button to start heating it up and sets out two of the paper cups.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe some music would be nice?” she asks him, propping her arm up on the table, watching him carefully.</p><p> </p><p>“Any special requests?” he asks her, moving back towards his phone on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Just...maybe....whatever you're into these days?” she asks him, throwing a glance at him as he looks at his phone and unplugs the cord for the earbuds and sets them on the nightstand.</p><p> </p><p>“What am I into right now?” he repeats back to her, walking the few steps to her that feel like go on forever as she pours the water over the tea, and tears the honey stick open, and adds it with the whiskey.</p><p> </p><p>He presses the phone with his thumb and the swelling music starts mid-song, as he places it on the small table, right in her view.</p><p> </p><p>“Cheers,” she says to him, handing over his cup, and they bump their paper cups together and sip. “Musicals, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“I find that it's a form which allows for heightened emotions...<em>passions</em> if you will. You get swept up in the whole story, not just the one song.”</p><p> </p><p>“And <em>this</em> story?” she asks, sitting down in the chair at the small table, looking back up at him, and then at his fingers flex before he sits down beside her. Crossing his legs, so that his foot is almost touching her.</p><p> </p><p>“You might call it <em>old fashioned</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm <em>not </em>familiar,” she tells him, propping her chin upon her hand, listening and watching.</p><p> </p><p>“It's after Don, he's the one singing, is afraid the girl of his dreams has gotten away. <em>Kathy</em>,” he tells her animatedly, taking another sip. “They had only really barely just met. Then he searches all over, and when he finds her again, <em>voila</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“So how does it end?” she asks him, holding the warm cup between her hands. “These things don't always have happy endings.”</p><p> </p><p>“They very much do in this one,” he tells her. “You're telling me you never seen <em>Singin' in the Rain</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, but I've heard of it,” she says with a smile. “Heard more of it <em>now</em>. Perfect for the weather?”</p><p> </p><p>His fingers are fidgeting with the tea bag dangling off the side of his cup. “I have an idea,” he tells her leaning forward his finger tapping the table near her fingers. “How about you take my umbrella with you, and then, I can see about getting it returned.”</p><p> </p><p>She sets her cup down on the table, then puts both hands on the faux wood surface. “Since you'll be going so far out of your way,” she offers, leaning closer. “Maybe you can stay for a while. We could watch a movie?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know the very one,” he says with a warm smile, wrapping his fingers around her hand.</p><p> </p><p>It definitely knocks the chill off.</p>
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